Histories
by prouvairy
Summary: This is a Les Mis modern AU fic set at a fancy university somewhere in France. Jean Prouvaire is the protagonist. Expect a lot of pairings in all kinds of forms, but it's primarily Jehan/Courfeyrac with a lot of Marius/Cosette and Enjolras/Grantaire. I'll update chapters as often as I can and the rest will be longer than the first. Rated M for a lot of things that will come later.
1. Chapter 1

Histories, Chapter 1

(Note: This modern AU fic is inspired by the setting of the novel The Secret History by Donna Tartt. The plot however is all my own random thoughts.)

Jean Prouvaire sat on a wooden bench, the leaves of the willow tree that stood beside it occasionally brushing against his cheek when the wind blew. The tree cast a shadow over him so that he remained hidden from the groups of talking and laughing students that walked past. Invisible. He reached into his satchel and retrieved his notebook. It was his first day at the university, and he still couldn't quite believe that he had won the scholarship to study poetry there. He still had yet to choose other classes, as he was given the option to do so; he had decided that he would first learn more about the place and what it had to offer academically that would be fun and a good experience that he wouldn't necessarily get elsewhere. He buried himself in the notebook, writing and crossing out lines, going through pages and pages, and he would have stayed there for hours, if they had not come along and destroyed his peace.

"Did you really have to show up so drunk? You made us look like idiots!"

"What does it matter? I showed up."

There came a burst of laughter. Jehan looked up, the laugh drawing his attention. There were three boys about his age, maybe a year older, and they had stopped right in front of where he was sitting. The laughing boy had bright eyes and a brighter smile, and he wore a bright blue jacket that looked oddly modern against his button-up shirt and brown trousers. It wasn't until the boy's eyes met Jehan's that he realised he was staring, and he quickly looked away, feeling his cheeks burn scarlet. The other two boys appeared to be arguing now, but he barely heard the cacophony of loud voices; the sound of laughter was still playing in his mind.

"Who are they?"

It was the first thing he asked the girl who lived in his dormitory when he felt like asking questions would be appropriate. He had met her in the small and rather dully-decorated study room after he had unpacked in his smaller and equally dull room. (It wouldn't take long for him to cheer up the space with pots of flowers and shelves of poetry books.)

The girl was named Cosette and she studied Art History. Presently, Jehan stood by the open window. Outside, the two arguing boys from earlier stood by the river; the boy he would have recognized by appearance was no longer with them, and he only realised who they were when he heard their voices. Cosette came to stand beside him, and smiled.

"That's Enjolras, in the red, and Grantaire, with the beer bottle. They're part of Les Amis de l'ABC."

"Les...?"

She turned to him. "That's what they call themselves. There's more of them, and they're the students of Professor Valjean's French History class."

"French History?" Jehan considered this for a moment. "I didn't know that was a class, but I suppose there's no good reason for it not to be. The history of one's own country is surely very interesting, because we could be standing right in the very spot where that history has taken place. I'm quite interested in it myself."

Cosette walked away from the window, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. She flopped onto the sofa and picked up a book. "I know what you're thinking. You want to join the class. But there are things you'll learn about it, Jehan. It's not really how it sounds. Les Amis, they're all obsessed with revolution. And they seem to think that when the time calls for another French revolution, they'll be the ones to start it."

Jehan raised an eyebrow at that, but said no more. She clearly wished to be left alone now, and he went back to his room to consider what he had learned.

His name was Courfeyrac. How could it ever be anything else?

Jehan had spent the first few days at the university before classes started slowly getting to know his way around campus and talking to the other people who lived in his dormitory. The second time he saw the boy, this time alone, he was with Cosette, as they lay on the grass by the lake and smiled up at the clouds. He felt the boy's presence before he even saw him, somehow, and he sat up suddenly to see him grinning at him from the wooden bench that Jehan had been sitting on the first time he saw him. He then strolled over, with the sort of confidence that suggested not arrogance but just a full awareness of the kind of effect his presence could have on people, and introduced himself to Jehan.

"Hi, I'm Courfeyrac."

Cosette sat up too then and smiled at him, shielding her eyes from the sun as she squinted upwards. "Hey, Courf. This is Jean Prouvaire. He's a first-year poetry student, he took the empty room in my dorm."

Jehan nodded at Courfeyrac and said, "You can call me Jehan."

"Jehan. It's a pretty name, like the flower in your hair."

Jehan blushed and pulled the pale blue flower out from where it was tied into his sand-coloured hair and looked at it in his hand. "It fell off the plant on my windowsill, so..."

Cosette giggled. "You embarrassed him, Courf. Leave the new boy alone."

"I'm only getting to know him. Jehan, you should come and meet and my friends. Cosette, there might be something in it for you, too." He winked, and she narrowed her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Marius is back."

At that, her eyes widened and it was her turn to blush slightly. "He is?!" She scrambled to her feet. "Where is he?"

"With the others at the café, if you and Jehan care to join me."

Jehan gave Cosette a look. She didn't tell him that she was actually friends with any of these people. But she wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention now, she was just nodding enthusiastically and brushing blades of grass off her white dress. Jehan stood up and walked with them toward the café that he had not yet been to, wondering what kind of people he would meet there.


	2. Chapter 2

The ABC café (the namesake of the group, it turned out) was a small but cosy place. None of the chairs seemed to be quite the same as one another, and tables were crammed into corners, but the effect was pleasant rather than uncomfortable. Sitting on a table was Enjolras, his legs in his black trousers crossed, and he was wearing the red trench coat that he never seemed to take off. His curling blond hair was tied in a loose red ribbon behind his back. Somehow, this didn't make him look at all feminine; it may have been the strange light that seemed to burn in his blue eyes and the expression of close concentration on his handsome face as he looked intently at a young man with glasses who was talking animatedly, his hands waving in gestures. Grantaire sat on a chair nearby; he was alone but his eyes were glued to Enjolras as though he were a work of art, and perhaps he was, but Jehan's eyes did not linger on him for long, because Courfeyrac returned to his side from the corner of the café where he had been greeting a dark-haired girl.

"Welcome to our world," he said, with a big smile. "It looks like Enjolras is getting fired up. You might want to hear him-"

"Or wish he'd shut up," muttered Grantaire from his table.

Courfeyrac laughed. "Well, it depends on what it's about. But usually it's riveting stuff. First, I need to introduce you to everyone. That's Combeferre, talking to Enjolras-"

The boy with the glasses looked up at his name and smiled warmly at Jehan, who waved and smiled in response.

"The girl I was just talking to is Eponine, and over there is Joly and Feuilly, and the guy buying coffee is Bahorel. Marius was here, but he seems to have disappeared."

Jehan looked around. "So has Cosette."

"Oh." Courfeyrac smirked. "That makes sense." He then went over to Enjolras and said something into his ear, and the golden-haired boy turned and nodded at Jehan, who was beginning to feel quite awkward by this point, but he didn't mind so much. They all seemed friendly enough.

"Everyone," said Courfeyrac in a voice loud enough to make Jehan flush, "this is Jehan Prouvaire. He's new, so be nice to him."

The hour Jehan spent at that café was one of the most interesting hours of his life. When everyone had settled down, they began by discussing the work they had been doing in their French History class, while Jehan sipped casually on a latte. He was happily surprised by how much of the talk he understood even though he had never been to the class. When they were done with that, Enjolras began to talk, and this was even more captivating than he'd imagined it would be. Enjolras had such a strong presence that it was impossible not to give him all of your attention, though Jehan was very aware of Courfeyrac sitting beside him, occasionally glancing at him to see his reactions. Enjolras was talking about a protest the group was planning to have about improving the lives of all students at the university; he found it incredibly unfair that some students were struggling with money while others had no financial worries, because this affected the ability for students to learn and get what they were paying for from the university. If everybody there was considered worthy to study in such an establishment, then they should all be able to do so as easily as possible. Jehan admired how much Enjolras and his friends cared about the people, and he found himself caring too, more than he'd ever thought about. When it finished and half of the students drifted off to their various classes, Jehan felt like something had awoken within him, something strong and fierce. He wanted to try to help people like that, too.

"What did you think of it?" Courfeyrac asked, as he and Jehan walked across the grass.

"It was... wonderful. Enjolas is very impressive."

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows slightly at this. "Is that all you noticed?" He had a teasing tone to his voice, but Jehan could tell that he wasn't entirely joking. He smiled.

"You were all wonderful. The way you talked about things was so intelligent. You're good with people. Enjolras seems like the leader, but you're kind of like the glue that holds everything together, right?"

Courfeyrac smiled widely at this. "I guess I am. Combeferre is the real glue though, he's the one who actually organizes things and does the technical part of it all."

"Combeferre... with the glasses? He seems nice."

"He is. The three of us are quite close."

Jehan took the flower out of his hair and played with it thoughtfully. "You all seem close. It must be nice to have friends like that."

Courfeyrac stopped walking and looked at him. "Don't you have friends?"

Jehan gazed back into Courfeyrac's brown eyes. "Not like that. I suppose Cosette is my friend, but we haven't known each other that long. I was always kind of alone back home. No one wanted to be friends with the boy who writes poetry and collects flowers."

Courfeyrac's eyes were sad now. "That's ridiculous. I know every one of my friends wants to be friends with you. And why wouldn't they? You're lovely."

Jehan blushed and looked away.

"Thank you, Courf. I... I think I'm going to join the class. The French History class. I'm interested in it and I need another class, so it seems like a good idea."

"That's a great idea! I'll be happy to see you there."

Jehan still didn't meet his eye, and when they arrived at his dormitory building, he just nodded quickly at him, muttered a thanks for taking him to the café and then hurried inside. Courfeyrac stood there for a moment, frowning slightly, and Jehan felt a pang of regret for making him think he had done something wrong, but he wanted to be alone now to reflect over what happened today and what it all meant. Could he really be finding a place to belong? And, if so, was he able to accept that or was it all just too good to be true?

Just as Courfeyrac turned to leave, he saw a flash of blue on the grass at his feet. He knelt down and picked up the flower that Jehan had dropped before running inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Jean Prouvaire stared into the mirror. In just a few minutes he would go to his first French History class. It hadn't been too difficult to get into the class; it was small and Professor Valjean only allowed new students to join if they showed true academic promise and interest, but Courfeyrac had spoken to him for Jehan, and with Enjolras' blessing, he could have just walked right in. apparently Enjolras did not recommend a great deal of people, so Jehan suspected that Courfeyrac had spoken to him too, and he blushed at the thought. Cosette had told Jehan about Valjean, speaking very fondly of him; he had helped her a great deal with some personal problems in her first year, and she thought very highly of him.

He tugged at his collar. He was wearing a teal shirt that was patterned with small white cats, and he wore his hair loose, letting it fall just past his shoulders in its slight wave. His eyes looked more grey than blue in the light of the early morning sun, and his freckles danced across the bride of his nose when he smiled at himself, trying to pull confidence into him. He didn't know why he felt so nervous; he was good with people, he knew that, and when he actually tried rather than just sitting in the corner alone, he knew he could make them like him, and he also knew that he had enough interest in the subject to be able to join in. But he still felt awkward about Courfeyrac. He seemed to like him, and Jehan wasn't quite sure what to feel about that. He wanted to be liked by the boy, he couldn't deny that; but things were beginning to change in his life so suddenly and he wasn't sure he was ready for so many good things at once. He felt like he could dance, giddy with excitement, but he was scared, scared of things changing and turning out nothing like he imagined. He was afraid to hold too tightly in case it was ripped away. He was a Romantic, a dreamer, but he knew that real life wasn't always like his poetry. He believed in love, he was in love with it, but too much of it and he could be knocked off balance and crash to the hard ground.

All he could do was go into it and see what happened. He gave a sigh and a smile at his reflection before picking up his satchel and walking out.

"Welcome to French History, Jean Prouvaire! I am Jean Valjean, and I hope you find that my class is as you dreamed it would be. I don't mind if you just listen to begin with, there can be a lot to take in, but any comments you have are welcomed."

Valjean was clearly devoted to the class that he taught, and Jehan was indeed very welcomed. The students acted as though he had always been one of them, and Enjolras even asked his opinion on one topic, to which he gave a satisfactory reply. Valjean seemed pleased with him, and though Courfeyrac did not sit beside Jehan, as he was busy discussing something with Combeferre, he occasionally glanced at him and smiled, which was enough to show that he was not angry or upset.

Halfway through the hour, the door suddenly burst open.

"Hey, what's up everyone? Sorry I'm late."

Jehan looked up from his coffee to see a bald, dark-skinned boy with his arm in a sling and a huge smile on his face. Joly instantly jumped up and ran over to him.

"BOSSUET! WHAT HAPPENED?"

"I fell down some stairs. Don't worry, I'm fine," the boy replied, pulling Joly into a hug with his free arm.

Courfeyrac nudged Jehan. "Lesgle, or Bossuet, is the final member of our group. He's pretty much the unluckiest guy I ever know, so this kind of thing is normal."

Jehan watched as Joly fussed over Bossuet, looking extremely worried. Valjean looked almost bored at this scene, as though it happened so often that he was used to it. When Bossuet sat down and managed to calm Joly, the class continued as though there had been no interruption, Enjolras finishing the sentence he had started.

The class was focused on the French Revolution, and the students were so passionate about it, the debates so heated and intriguing that it seemed to last no time at all, and then it was over and Jehan was sure now that he had made the right decision.

He took some time putting away his things after the lesson, and Courfeyrac stayed behind, walking over to him. Jehan looked up with a small smile.

"Hi. It was really great, I think I'm going to like this class."

The dark-haired boy reached out his hand, and Jehan realised that he was holding the blue flower he had worn in his hair the last time he had seen him. It was small and shrivelled now, but still blue, as blue as Courfeyrac's jacket.

"You dropped this last time."

"Oh. Well, I don't need it any more. You can um, keep it?"

Courfeyrac laughed. "Should I put it in my hair?"

"Oh no, that's my thing," Jehan said. "Though the colour is nice on you."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Kinda." Jehan didn't know where this sudden burst of confidence had come from, but he was grateful for it.

"So things are okay, right? You seemed a little... off the other day. You ran away from me."

Jehan looked into Courfeyrac's eyes and smiled.

"Everything's fine. I just want to get used to everything here before I... you know."

"I know. It's okay."

Courfeyrac squeezed Jehan's hand briefly, and then left the room.

Two weeks passed and Jehan found himself settling nicely into a routine. His poetry classes were well suited to his tastes, and he slowly began to immerse himself in the French History class, and get to know the people in it. Eponine was the only girl, but she didn't seem to care much, and half the time she didn't even show up. Jehan found himself warming to Combeferre, who was studious, loving books almost as much as Jehan loved poetry, but gentle and kind rather than the stoic, distant personality he'd half expected. Feuilly was a lot of fun, and Joly and Bossuet were together so much that they almost blurred into one person to Jehan, but they had their own loveable quirks that set them apart. Bahorel usually had a lot to say, and he was animated and friendly, but he also seemed to love fighting; one time he showed up with a split lip and a grin on his face, reminding Jehan of Bossuet's first appearance. And then there was Enjolras, burning brightly, becoming more and more captivating by the day, and Grantaire, who was cynical and liked to argue with Enjolras when he wasn't wistfully gazing at him, or drinking somewhere. They were all passionate, intense, and a true friendship group, stronger and tighter than any he had ever known. And Courfeyrac was so much one of them, so familiar and known to them, so necessary to them, that Jehan felt like his crush on him was a little hopeless. That wasn't the only reason – Courfeyrac was a notorious flirt, somewhat outrageous at times, and always the brightest person in the room. Jehan saw for himself this side of Courfeyrac all too often; he seemed to be flirting with a different person every few days, girl or boy, he didn't seem to care. Jehan didn't forget Courfeyrac more or less suggesting to him that day that he would be willing to get into something with him when he was ready for it, but exactly what kind of relationship that would be, he didn't know.

On a Friday evening, Jehan was in the university library, sitting on the floor with stacks of poetry books around him. He had come to get some books for an assignment on Romanticism and then going home to start writing it, but he had become distracted and was reading Keats intently. He didn't realise there was anyone else in this secluded, basement part of the library, until he heard a voice that was definitely Courfeyrac's. He looked up and saw the boy leaning against a wall, dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and a black bow tie, which looked oddly great on him, and he was talking to a boy who kept blushing and ducking his head as Courfeyrac grinned. Jehan's eyes narrowed. That was what he would be doing. What he should be doing. But, he reminded himself, Courfeyrac was not a one person only kind of guy, and he should just give up and find someone who would date him properly and give him the romance he craved.

He was proud of his inner strength – until Courfeyrac leaned down to kiss the boy, and Jehan accidentally knocked over a pile of books with the sudden jump to his feet. Courfeyrac's lips stopped right before they touched the other's, and he stared over at Jehan, who was blushing furiously and picking up books. He began shoving them back on the shelves, not looking at Courfeyrac, so he didn't realise that he had walked over to him, abandoning the other boy who shot him a dirty look before leaving, until he was done stacking the books and looked up, right into his brown eyes.

"Courf." His heart was thudding as the other boy looked at him, his eyes shining, a very faint smirk on his lips.

"Jehan. Is everything all right?"

He nodded, clutching the three books that he was taking with him to his chest. "I'm just fine, and clearly you are too."

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, I would say you were jealous, Jean Prouvaire."

"Jealous? No, he's not my type."

Courfeyrac laughed. "You know what I mean."

"I don't. Care to enlighten me?" Jehan's heart beat even faster as Courfeyrac took a step closer.

"You want me. Don't you?"

Jehan was aware of how much he must be blushing. It would be easy, so much easier, to shoot some lame excuse at Courfeyrac, run away and do his poetry work. Much easier than doing what he did, but with much less exciting consequences.

"Yes," he said, his voice small, "I do."

Time seemed to stop for a moment, as the two boys just looked at each other, and then somehow, Jehan's books were on the floor, and Courfeyrac had him pinned against the bookshelves, gripping his wrists. He kissed the smaller boy, softly at first, but when Jehan reciprocated with a surprising amount of force, he pressed his body against his and let his tongue dart between the poet's lips, dancing with his as though they had had years of practice. Books fell over, some falling to the floor, as Courfeyrac held Jehan tightly by the waist, Jehan's fingers tangled in Courfeyrac's dark curls, and Courfeyrac gave a muffled laugh. Jehan held him tighter, almost urgent with his actions, and Courfeyrac's laugh turned into a low moan as he felt Jehan's hands on his back, under his shirt. With a fast movement, Courfeyrac swept a pile of books off a shelf, and Jehan sat on it, wrapping his legs around Courfeyrac's waist as they kissed.

"You are surprising," Courfeyrac said when they came up for air. Jehan grinned, looking at Courfeyrac's flushed face and messy curls, wild from his fingers.

"A good surprising?"

"Very good." Courfeyrac leaned in and kissed him again, hard and hot, and Jehan forgot that he was highly unlikely to have a real relationship with this boy, that he had known him for less than three weeks, that he didn't really do this kind of thing often. None of it mattered, when Courfeyrac's lips were on his, and then on his neck, making him gasp and shiver as he planted kiss after kiss there. He began to unbutton Courfeyrac's shirt, baring a lean, toned chest, and his hand was just daring to move lower when suddenly there was a loud voice and Courfeyrac was pulled away from him with an actual whimper. Jehan blinked through the magic cloud that seemed to have formed around him and saw Enjolras, who was frowning at him disapprovingly.

"Courfeyrac is required elsewhere. I suggest you continue this at a more convenient time, and probably take it to a bedroom, the university library is anything but."

Jehan covered his scarlet face with his hands and nodded, not able to look Enjolras in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he squeaked, and then he felt a quick, soft kiss on his lips before Courfeyrac was dragged out, leaving Jehan to recover, and then tidy up all the books with shaking hands.


End file.
